


seasons change (but people don't).

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - College/University, Car Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles both know every single stain, every spilled Mountain Dew slushie and suspicious red splotch.  Derek knows some of the stories, Scott and Stiles high and giggling, sprawled in the back with the seats flattened down, racing and talking over each other.  Some of the stories, Derek’s favorites, he doesn’t have to ask about.  Some of them Derek remembers himself, from when he started coming around.  The mud and grass stains from everyone’s lacrosse gear, the chocolate sauce smear from hot summers and ice cream trips, before Stiles realized he had to ban eating in the jeep.  </p>
<p>Derek’s favorite stains, though, are easier for him to smell than they are to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seasons change (but people don't).

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aweekofsaturdays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/gifts).



Derek didn’t grow up with the jeep.  It’s become his home, and Stiles pulling it out of the garage, carefully checking its wheels for air and checking the paintjob for dust and cracks, has become a welcome home ritual for all of them.  

But he doesn’t sprawl so easily as Scott, or consider it his baby, like Stiles.  Stiles practically lived in the jeep, as soon as he was old enough to drive it.  He knew the jeep when it was sort of, mostly, kind of new, knows every inch of the car, every carefully placed piece of duct tape.  And Scott knows exactly how long to hold his breath as the engine stalls, has a theory about exactly the right way to hit the engine to jog it and coax it into running.  

They both know every single stain, every spilled Mountain Dew slushie and suspicious red splotch.  Derek knows some of the stories, Scott and Stiles high and giggling, sprawled in the back with the seats flattened down, racing and talking over each other.  Some of the stories, Derek’s favorites, he doesn’t have to ask about.  Some of them Derek remembers himself, from when he started coming around.  The mud and grass stains from everyone’s lacrosse gear, the chocolate sauce smear from hot summers and ice cream trips, before Stiles realized he had to ban eating in the jeep.  

Derek’s favorite stains, though, are easier for him to smell than they are to see.

They’re from days like today, when everyone’s house is a little too full, a little too busy to sneak away into anyone’s bedrooms unnoticed.  If Derek thought that going off to college would make his family any less embarrassing when he’s home with his boyfriends, he was wrong; Laura teases him every time he goes for the condom jar under the sink, and Cora can smell jizz a mile away.  Stiles’ dad and Scott’s mom are hit or miss, but they always know that when the sheriff’s in the house, he’s not in his patrol car, and if they tuck away into the preserve, they aren’t going to be caught.

Scott’s shifting in his seat the entire drive there, the smell of his arousal permeating through the car.  There’s the faint scent of lube, a sign to Derek that Scott probably planned for this more than him or Stiles, maybe even did a little bit of prep work.  If Derek were a little bit bolder, just a little more impatient, he wouldn’t even wait until they got there, would reach his hand into the back of Scott’s jeans and feeling for himself.  If it didn’t distract Stiles so much when Scott gets noisy, he’d probably already have Scott’s pants down, his mouth hot around Scott’s dick to ease the stretch of his fingers in Scott’s ass.

Stiles switches the radio station and turns up the air conditioning.  Scott shifts again.  Derek is chubbing up in his too-tight pants, his dick pressing uncomfortably against the rough denim.  Stiles keeps glancing at his lap.

“I don’t think anyone would mind if you went just a little bit faster, dude,” Scott says, and Derek can’t help but agree.  It’s a relief when they finally pull off the road, Stiles following tire tracks in the mud until they get to a familiar clearing.

“You remember the condoms?” Stiles asks Derek.  They don’t really need them, and most of the time they don’t use them.  They’re all clean, and the mess is part of the reward, kissing the taste of come from Stiles’ cheeks and mouth when his are eyes half-lidded and his lips swollen pink.  Scott riding Derek and Derek licking him out after, come dripping down Scott’s ass, diluting the unpleasant taste of lube.  But Stiles has cracked down on comestains on his seats, too, after the last time he had to pick up his dad from work and got some uncomfortable raised eyebrows.

“I only had the flavored kind left,” Derek admits.  He fishes in his pocket and pulls them out, two strawberry ones and one grape that Cora had pawned off on him.

“Blowjobs it is,” Stiles says.

They put the car in park and get out, moving to the back, where there’s a little more space (or at least less threat of knocking the car into gear by accident).  They crank down the car’s windows and turn the engine off.  Stiles pouts a little about not being able to keep his music on, but he doesn’t want to kill his battery, and though Scott can focus on getting fucked and singing Fall Out Boy at the same time, it’s really one or the other for Derek.  Scott is good at multitasking, but Derek only gets really into music during sex when it’s more of the lapdance variety, and even that is more embarrassing than anything.

Scott strips his jeans off early on, comfortable with nudity in a way that speaks to his dislike of pants more than anything.  He tucks his floral snapback into the front seat while Derek and Stiles decide whether to take the seats down.  They both vote no, in the end.  It never creates as much room as they’d like, and it means that if they _do_  get caught, it’s obvious what was going down.  So when Stiles finally drops down to the floor of the jeep to his knees, he’s jammed between Scott’s legs and the front seat, his legs turned sideways to fit into the space.

Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever get over watching Stiles suck dick.  He loves it when it’s him, loves the way Stiles’ mouth feels and the way Stiles looks down between his knees.  There’s something just as appealing, though, about watching Scott and Stiles.  It isn’t Derek’s own dick getting sucked, but it makes it easier to watch, to zoom in on every detail.  The way Stiles’ eyelashes look miles long when his eyes slip closed, the way Scott’s hand rests on Stiles’ head, gently coaxing his pink condom-covered cock deeper into Stiles’ throat.  The way Stiles falls into a rhythm, and how different it is from the one he favors with Derek.  Scott likes this slower, likes it when Stiles drags things out, makes him wait to come.  Scott likes to watch the way Stiles’ cheeks go pink and his eyes go glassy, the way spit pools to make things sloppier, messier, even with the condom.  Scott isn’t faring much better, though, truth be told.  Derek’s amazed he hasn’t come, though he knows by now not to overestimate Scott’s desire to be good, to wait until he’s supposed to before shooting off.

Derek, for one, is getting a little impatient, though.  The whole car is filled with the sounds of Stiles’ heavy breaths and both of their moans, the satisfied sound of Stiles sucking and the occasional squeak of Stiles’ shoes against the plasticky  interior of the car door.  Derek has been hard for what feels like ages, and he’s painfully aware of the fact that Scott is still loose, the smell of lube clinging even as Scott’s arousal blends with Stiles’ to saturate the entire car.  

Scott must notice, too; he glances at Derek and bites his lip, and Derek goes in.  Derek tilts his head and sucks that bottom lip between his own, instead, feeling Scott’s whole body relax and tense again, Derek tasting the gasp from Scott’s mouth as Stiles’ tongue brushes his slit.

“You ready to be fucked?” Derek asks Scott when he pulls away to let Scott catch his breath.  

“I was ready, like, two hours ago, dude,” Scott says, and Derek grins.

Derek finally takes his pants off and slides on a condom while the other two maneuver, Stiles puzzling over the best way to position them.  He settles on letting Scott and Derek take the seat, the shorter Scott barely fitting laying down across the seats with Derek over him.  Derek coats his fingers in lube, though Scott doesn’t need as much time and prep as he usually does.  If Scott were less turned on already, Derek would probably eat him out for a while, but Derek doesn’t think Scott would last very long with that, this time.  He’ll have to do that later on during break, his tongue in Scott’s ass until Scott’s writhing, only held down by Stiles long, thin fingers and firm grip.  Derek doesn’t even tease Scott, doesn’t make Scott wait while he palms his dick, as if testing whether he is hard enough to fuck into Scott just yet.  He doesn’t need to; they both know he is, and neither of them wants to draw things out any longer than they already have.

The jeep feels warm in spite of the breeze when Derek finally presses into Scott, and Derek wishes he had taken his shirt off, too.  He sheds it when he’s inside Scott, grinning when Scott reaches out to feel his chest, instinctual and awed, even though Scott’s abs are just as impressive nowadays.  Derek presses back down, and Scott’s hand falls away, gripping the edge of the seat as Derek’s skin and chest hair presses close, and Derek starts to move.

Their welcome home fuck probably isn’t exactly the most romantic, isn’t sappy or mushy.  Derek fucks Scott hard and fast, to make up for all the waiting the two of them have had.  Derek wants Scott to feel it, to feel every inch of stretch, to feel the aching in his abs as he tilts his hips up to get the best angle, to feel the sweat beading on his forehead and the cramping of his calves as he tightens them again and again, holding himself back and drawing back closer to the edge.  It’s the smell and sound of Stiles jerking off in the front seat, telling Scott to hold on just a little bit more, Scott groaning and trying to curl back in on himself as Derek nudges his prostate.  

Or maybe it is romantic, in a derekscottstiles kind of way.  It’s Derek leaning in to kiss Scott when he has the breath for it, brushing Scott’s curly hair from his eyes.  It’s Stiles filling the car with praise, talking about how good they look together, how amazing Scott looks.  How good he’s being holding on for them.  It’s Derek making things easier for Scott, getting his hand on Scott’s dick the second Stiles says Scott can let go, Derek watching Scott fall apart under him and spilling over the edge himself.

It’s Stiles looking sheepish, gesturing to his limp dick and his condom full of come when Derek offers to blow him, too, saying that if he comes again in Derek’s mouth, he’s never going to be able to drive them home.

“You could always let me drive the jeep,” Derek says lightly.  There’s no way that Scott can, right now; he needs some holding and cuddling, some quiet reassurances.  And Derek really does want to get his mouth on Stiles.  

“I just got my baby back, _no one_  but me is driving him for at least another week,” Stiles says indignantly, and Derek smiles.

The three of them eventually get all their clothes back on, and the condoms get tossed into a trash can on the edge of the preserve.  The air feels much, much hotter and stickier than it did on the way there, but Stiles doesn’t roll the windows back up and turn on the A/C.  

He does crank up the Fall Out Boy, though, and Derek spends the ride home with Stiles on his left, belting out of key, and Scott mumbling along with his head tucked into Derek’s shoulder.

The sun is shining, and the wind blows Derek’s hair, and he smiles.  It’s gonna be a good summer.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](http://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
